‘Venus, my granddaughter,’ he said. ‘My wide orbit extends much further than humankind can understand. Mine is the drowning in the dark sea. The prisoner in the dark cell is also mine. I am the lord of strangling and of hanging by the throat. I am the leader of revolt and rebellion. I provoke the loud groaning. I administer the secret poison. When I am in the sign of Leo, then I deal out vengeance and punishment. I stand in triumph above the ruined halls. I throw the walls down on masons and on carpenters. I slew Sampson as he shook the pillar. I am the master of shivering ague. I direct the treasons and the secret plots. I smile upon pestilence. So listen to me now. Weep no more. I will look after you. Your knight, Palamon, will win the lady just as you have promised to him. Mars will in turn help Arcite and save his honour. Nevertheless there must now be peace between the two of you. I know that you have different temperaments, and that as a result there is division between you, but enough of strife. I am your grandfather. I am ready, and willing, to help you. Dry your eyes.’ So spoke dread Saturn.
Now I will leave the gods in heaven, and return to the events of earth. It is time for the tournament. Of arms, and the men, I sing.
PART FOUR
The festivities that day in Athens were glorious. The vigour of May entered every person, so that all were bold and playful. They danced and jousted all that Monday, or spent the day in the service of Venus. The night was for rest. All were eager to rise early and to witness the great fight. On that morning there was a great bustle and noise, in the inns and lodgings, as the horses and the suits of armour were prepared for the battle. The knights and the companies of nobles, mounted on stallions and fine steeds, rode out to the palace. If you had been there, you would have seen armour so ornate and so exotic that it seemed to be spun out of gold and steel. The spears, the head-armour, and the horse-armour, glittered in the morning sun while the golden mail and coats of arms glowed in the throng. In the saddle were lords wearing richly decorated robes, followed by the knights of their retinue and their squires; the squires themselves were busy fastening the heads to the shafts of the spears, buckling up the helmets and fitting the shields with leather straps. This was no time to be idle. The horses were foaming and champing on their golden bridles. The armourers were running here and there with file and hammer. There were yeomen in procession, and also many of the common people with thick staffs in their hands. All of them rode, or marched, to the notes of pipes, trumpets, bugles and kettledrums blaring out the sound of battle.
In the palace there were small groups of people in excited debate, all of them discussing the merits of the Theban knights. One had an opinion, which another contradicted. One said this, another said that. Some supported the knight with the black beard, while others commended the bald fellow. Yet others gave the palm to the knight with the shaggy hair. ‘I tell you this,’ one courtier said, ‘he looks like a fighter. That axe of his must weight twenty pounds at least.’ ‘Never!’ So, long after the sun had risen, the halls rang with gossip and speculation.
The noble lord, Theseus, had already been woken by the music of minstrels and by the noise of the crowd. Yet he remained in the privy chambers of his palace until Palamon and Arcite, equally honoured guests, were brought into the courtyard. Theseus appeared at a great window, where he sat in state as if he were a god enthroned. The crowd of people were allowed to enter, and pressed forward to see him and to do him reverence. They were also curious to hear what he had decided to say. So they grew silent when the herald called out, ‘Oye! Oye!’ When they were quite still, he proceeded to read out the duke’s decree. ‘The lord, Theseus,’ he said, ‘revolving the matter of this tournament in his noble mind, and deeming it little better than folly to risk the lives of these noble knights in mortal struggle, whereupon, what with one thing and another, with the intent that none of them shall die, he has changed his original plan. No man, therefore, on pain of his life, will bring any arrow or axe or knife into the jousts. No one will carry, or cause to be carried, or draw, or cause to be drawn, any short sword; no such weapon will be allowed. Only one charge will be allowed with a sharp spear against an opponent. If on foot, the combatant is allowed to thrust in self-defence. If by mischance he is taken, he is not to be slain but marched under guard to a post that will be set up on either side. There he must stay. If either Palamon or Arcite is captured, or if one of them dies, then the tournament comes to an end. God speed to all the fighters. Go forth now, and smite hard! Good luck with your maces and your long swords. Make your way to the list. This is the will of noble Theseus.’
The people cried aloud with one voice, and their approbation reached the gates of heaven. ‘God bless you, great lord! In your goodness of heart, you are not willing to shed noble blood!’ Then, as the trumpets blew and the drums began to beat, the whole company made its way to the amphitheatre of stone. The people of Athens proceeded according to their rank, through a city decked in cloth of gold. Leading them was Theseus himself, with Palamon and Arcite riding on either side; after him rode his queen, Hippolita, and fair Emily herself, while all the rest followed. It was not yet nine o’clock when they arrived at the lists, but Theseus took his seat of state. When he was enthroned in majesty, Hippolita and Emily sat in their appointed places. Then all the others took their seats. They looked towards the western gate of Mars where Arcite, with a banner of red, entered with his hundred knights. At the same moment, through the eastern gate dedicated to Venus, Palamon rode out with his retinue; he had unfurled a banner of white, and carried it with spirit and dedication. There could not have been two sets of troops in the world who were so evenly matched in every respect, in courage, in nobility, and in age; they rode in two ranks, like beside like. When their names were called, to confirm their number, each one answered in turn. There was no attempt at treachery. After the muster was taken the gates were shut, and the cry rang out – ‘Knights, fulfil your duty!’ Then, as the trumpets blared, the heralds withdrew. The battle was set to begin on both sides.
In go the spears, held firmly for attack; in go the spurs, piercing the flanks of the horses. These were plainly men who could joust and ride. The shivering shafts then fell against the sturdy shields. One rider feels the thrust against his breastbone. The spears spring up, some twenty feet in height; the gleaming swords are raised, as bright as silver. The helmets of the knights are smashed to smithereens. BLOOD BUBBLES. BONES BREAK. BREASTS BURST. One knight hurls himself through the thickest of the throng. One steed stumbles, and down come horse and rider, rolling under foot. Another knight stands his ground and fights with his spear, sending his opponent tumbling. Here is one wounded and taken; despite his protests he is led to the pillar of defeat, where he must remain for the duration of the tournament. Another fallen knight is escorted to the other side. From time to time Theseus ordains a pause, so that the knights may rest and with drink or other cordials refresh themselves.
There were many occasions when the two Thebans, Palamon and Arcite, were engaged in single combat; they scarred and slashed one another, and were both unhorsed. There is no tiger in the woods of Greece, her whelp stolen by a hyena, who was more savage than Arcite stalking his foe. The Moroccan lion, hunted down and weak from hunger, was not more fierce than Palamon against his enemy in love. Enraged with jealousy they struck each other hard; their blood ran in streams upon the earth. Yet there is an end to everything. Before the day drew to a close the strong king, Emetreus, managed to get hold of Palamon while he was fighting Arcite; he plunged his sword into his flesh and with twenty men dragged him to the stake. Immediately the great king, Lycurgus, rode to the rescue of his champion, but he was knocked from his horse; Emetreus himself was wounded by Palamon, who, refusing to yield, had struck out at him with his sword and dislodged him from his saddle. Yet it was all for nothing. He was taken struggling to the stake. His brave heart could not assist him now. As the rules of Theseus had stated, he was obliged to remain where he was. He had been defeated. He was bowed in sorrow, knowing well enough that he could not fight again. When Theseus witnessed all this he cried out to the knights left in the field, ‘No more! The fighting is over! I can now give my just and proper decision. Arcite of Thebes has gained the hand of Emily. He has won her in a fair contest. Fortune is on his side.’ The people then exclaimed with joy, in cries and shouts so loud that it seemed the lists themselves might fall.